“Do we really care, so long as it’s not you?” His lips twitch. “Just kidding. We’re getting takeout.” He pauses. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t actually mind your food. Much. So long as you don’t burn it.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Thanks, Brother.”

“No problem, Sister Bear.”

I blink, the moisture in my eyes refracting the rays of the sun. I’m being silly. A name derived from The Berenstain Bears is a little corny and a lot childish, but I like it. As nicknames go, it’s way better than “Malice.”

In fact, I could live a full and happy life without anyone calling me “Malice” ever again.

Chapter 59

Chapter 59

One month after that . . .

Cristela wraps a strand of my hair around a hot iron, transforming my unruly waves into long, springy ringlets.

“Gorgeous,” she says, running her fingers through the curls. “In this time or any another.”

I smile, even as a part of me mourns. I always insisted that I would never date in high school, and Lalana always countered that she would get me to break my rule, some way, somehow. I guess she was right, even if her slashing cheekbones and straight eyebrows aren’t the ones looking back at me from the mirror.

I’d like to think that in a different future, on a different thread, she’d be the one curling my hair, the one hooting with laughter as she tries on spandex and ends up chucking it at the wall.

But in this timeline, she’s not. And that’s okay, because I have a beautiful and brilliant Nicaraguan scientist by my side.

I don’t know how I would’ve survived the last month without Cristela. We talk on the phone multiple times every day and text even more. In some versions of the future, she’ll see me at my worst and yet, she’ll love and support me anyway. That’s about the highest recommendation you can get for a true friend.

We descend the stairs arm in arm, one minute before our dates are supposed to arrive.

Archie’s tucked comfortably in the basement, his leg nearly healed, and Dad, of course, is at work. But this morning, he gave me a photo of him and my mom on their first date.

“I don’t know how your mother would feel if she were here,” he said. “Frankly, she’s not the sentimental type. But I’m proud. So proud of how responsible and grown-up my little girl has become.” Blinking rapidly, he ducked out of the room.

“Are you nervous?” Cristela asks me now.